


A History of Violence

by Alixtii



Series: Watcher!verse [2]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Backstory, Childhood, Episode: s05e13 Why We Fight, Established Relationship, Ethics, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Germany, Held Prisoner, Historical, Insanity, Kidnapped, Mad Science, Male Antagonist, Mentall Illness, Nazi Germany, Nazis, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Pre-Canon, Proposed Vivisection, Scientific Experimentation on Sentient Individuals, Scientific Experimentation on the Undead, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-15
Updated: 2005-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:17:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alixtii/pseuds/Alixtii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to Drusilla while Spike was on that submarine? The story that didn't make it into <i>The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A History of Violence

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline/Spoilers:** Takes place in the year 1942. Spoilers for AtS's "Why We Fight" and BtVS's S4 Initiative arc.

“Isn’t she a magnificent creature, _Herr_ Walsh?”

John Walsh, M.D., Ph.D., looked at the vampiress in front of him. She was a slender creature with long black hair, an elegant face, and a long red dress that looked like it would have been in style in another decade, if not another century. (A quick look at her fangs would pinpoint how long it had been since she was turned, plus or minus a decade or two, but the simple cage which held her kept him from safely checking.) In addition, the vampire held a small porcelain doll.

“Is it your policy to allow vampires to take toys into the holding cells with them, Franz?”

“Bad men tried to take away Miss Edith,” the vampire whispered to Walsh. “Miss Edith taught the bad men a lesson.” Walsh snorted. Even a vampire could recognize the evil inherent in the Nazis.

“The men who tried to remove the doll from her indeed suffered heavy casualties. It was a case of diminishing returns, _mein herr_. It wasn’t worth it simply to procure the doll.”

Walsh let himself be surprised that they would let such an affront to their power go without retaliation. After all, according to official party dogma the Jews were not worth the trouble of their extermination, either. Supposedly, the Nazis put forth the effort solely because they chose to do so. Walsh knew better than to say anything, however; it was far too dangerous.

“This . . . _thing_ . . . seems to have abilities even beyond those typical of her kind,” said Franz. “All of our tests indicate she is a precognitive, capable of seeing the future before it happens.”

If she saw it after it happened, it wouldn’t be the future, you Nazi ninny, Walsh felt like screaming out. But he kept silent. He had Margaret to think about.

“The pixies whisper things to me,” the vampire whispered. “The pixies, the stars, Miss Edith, the earth itself. They all whisper to me how you are going to die,” she added to Franz.

“If we could learn the secrets behind her precognition, _Herr_ Walsh, we would have procured a weapon which will render us unstoppable. I do not need to tell you how important this is for the Reich.” Yes, Walsh agreed, important. The ability to see the future was one that he could not let fall into the hands of the Nazis, even if it meant them taking Margaret from him, them doing—he refused to think of the unspeakable things they would do to his daughter. He would not, could let Margaret come to harm. But neither could he let the Nazis achieve what they wanted.

“Dissect her, _Herr_ Walsh. Perform your experiments. Cut into her brain. Hook her up to your machines. Do whatever it takes to find out how she does what she does.”

“I do not like this game,” the vampire complained. “Perhaps it is time to change the rules?”

“What about my other work?” asked Walsh.

“Continue with it as well,” said Franz. “The Fuhrer still wishes you to discover a way to control these beasts. What were you working on last? Electrical stimulation? But peer into this creature’s brain as well, see what makes her tick. The Reich will be indebted to you, _mein herr_.”

Walsh sighed. How could he ever live with _that_ on his soul?

“You are not just talking about the manipulation of flesh and electricity here, Franz, but tampering with the temporal equilibriums. You want to wage a war with fate. Can’t you just accept that there are just some things which are beyond man’s province?”

“It is not beyond the province of the German people. Do you doubt our ability?”

Well, Franz, now that you ask, yes, I do. Quite a bit, actually.

“We are destined to rule this globe, _mein herr_. Why would that destiny be limited merely to the present?”

The vampire laughed. “Foolish man,” she said. “You think to hear the stars is a blessing. But it is a cage with iron bars you cannot break, trapped by malicious providence, unable to do anything to prevent the inexorable onset but to cry out to the pixies with a tongue of arsenic. But they do not care, little man. They are more concerned with their own oranges and lemons and pomegranates.”

Franz looked at the vampire with contempt. “Of course a beast would not understand the glory of the German people.”

“I understand more than you could know,” the vampire insisted. “Just because my mind wanders, you think I do not see. But there is method in’t. I see, little man—I see the worms wriggling through the walls of this prison. And the prison will fall as if its legs were ripped out from under it by the sort of beast which until now you have seen only in your nightmares. I see your red and black cross, so crooked it does not even burn my skin, broken and on the floor. Not yet, but—soon.”

Franz ignored her. “Get this job done, Walsh. The Furher is waiting for his army, and I’m sure that as soon as I send him my report, he will be very interested in this new project of yours,” he pointed at the vampire, “as well. And do not think about betraying us, _mein herr_. Remember your little Margaret.”

“How could you be so unfeeling, Franz? Could you really have the heart to, to a child no less—”

“No, _mein herr_,” answered Franz. “Perhaps not. But I will not have to. I’m sure her unbeating heart will have no compunctions at all.” Once again, he gestured to the vampire.

“You are a demon, Franz, you are a—”

“I object,” interjected the vampire. “No demon would admit to being this man’s mother.” Even the vampire is running circles around Franz, Walsh observed with a silent laugh. “But enough of this talk of such unpleasant subjects. Miss Edith is growing bored. It is—time.”

As the vampire said the last word, the ground shook beneath them. “What’s happened?” Franz shouted, and ran to the communications array in the room.

“Hostiles have infiltrated the base,” a voice reported over the array. “They let loose an explosion in the A-wing.”

“It is my Spike,” the vampire said. “He’s come to rescue me.”

“That’s right,” said a voice behind them. Both Franz and Walsh turned to find a vampire with short black hair towering in the doorway, three minions behind him. “Did you ever doubt it, love?”

“Of course not, Spike,” answered the vampire in the cell. “The pixies told me you would come, although Miss Edith doubted.”

“Well, we’re just going to have to punish her, now, won’t we? But first we need to get you out of that cell.” He grabbed Franz by the head. “Tell me how to open the cell or I snap your neck.”

“I spit upon your kind,” Franz said. German pride, thought Walsh. German stupidity. No, scratch that—Franz was stupid even for a German.

The vampire snapped his neck. “Sorry, bloke,” he said. “I only bluff in poker.” He turned to Walsh. “Are we going to need a repeat performance?”

Could Walsh unleash a vampire back into the population, to maim and kill? It was better than letting this vampire fall into the hands of the Germans, he decided. There was always the chances the Germans would be able to follow up on the research he had already done, and unlock what secrets were held in this mad vampire’s brain. Even if she killed a half-dozen people every night, it would be better than the Nazi’s wholesale extermination of entire races. He turned to the lock and moved it into the position which would trigger the release mechanism.

As the female vampire emerged from her cell, the elegant features of her face transformed into her demonic visage. He cried out in pain as she sunk her fangs into his neck.

His last word was “Margaret.”

* * * * *

“Okay, Dru,” said Spike. “Let’s get out of here. I hear Peru is nice this time of year.”

“Not yet,” answered Dru. “His daughter. The scientist's. She is alone, with no one to look after her.”

“You want to eat her?”

“No, my Spike. We must take her to America, to her family.”

Spike stopped, midstep. “Erm, Dru, we’re vampires. Evil. We don’t save children.”

“Children grow up, Spike. They become adults, and unleash chaos on the world as has never been known before.”

“The pixies whispering something to you, eh?” Spike asked, catching on. “Very well, then, we had better do what they say, then.”

“Follow me, Spike,” Drusilla said, leading the way out of the room, “we will find the girl.”

Spike followed Drusilla to a small room. Inside, there was a small girl in a white nightshirt, about seven years old. “There was a boom, before,” the girl said. “I want Daddy. Do you know where Daddy is?”

“What’s your name, little girl?” Drusilla asked.

“Maggie.”

“Well, Maggie, your daddy was killed,” Drusilla whispered into her ear. “Murdered by vampires.”

“Dru, do you really think you should—”

“Hush!” she spat at Spike. “Mummy knows best.” She turned back to the girl, who was now crying uncontrollably. “You can’t go outside in that. What would people think? Where are your clothes?”

“Over there,” Maggie answered through her sobs, pointing at a large bureau. Drusilla nodded, then stripped the nightshirt off of Maggie Walsh.

“Erm, ducks, are you sure that we can’t just—”

“Patience, my Spike. The pixies have plans for this one—such delightful plans! You wouldn’t want to interfere with the delicious chaos, would you?”

“No,” answered Spike, disappointed, “couldn’t have that.” Maggie Walsh wouldn’t have made a full meal at her size, but she’d have been a delicious appetizer.

Drusilla dressed the child, then picked her up in her maternal way and swung the girl onto her back. “Gee, lady,” said Maggie. “You’re strong. What’s your name?”

“Drusilla,” Dru answered. "I have no name, and it is Drusilla. Let us go, Spike; it is almost time for tea. You, me—and Maggie makes three. And Miss Edith, she’s the fourth. Just like old times.”

**Author's Note:**

> [LJ/DW Comments](http://alixtii.dreamwidth.org/282215.html#comments)


End file.
